Come Back to Me (Bound to You Book 2)

by Jane Henry

  But he would draw it out of her. They would discuss her unease.

  He needed the air cleared before he revealed the plans he had for the weekend.

  Chapter Five

  Before she got to her room, Meredith decided she would choose the silky, sky-blue negligee that lay forgotten at the bottom of her top drawer. Thin spaghetti straps, a delicate, lace-trimmed V-neck, with a matching lace-trimmed hem, it hit the top of her thighs when she wore it. Though it made her feel sexy, sometimes she felt self-conscious in it, like she was trying to be someone she wasn't, acutely conscious of her imperfect belly, her breasts that drooped, and her silvery blonde hair that had begun to show more and more tiny flecks of silver. She felt like she was pretending to be young again, instead of the mature woman she'd become, as if she were play-acting. But she couldn't bring herself to discard it. Instead, she'd buried it under practical bras, warm socks, and flannel pajamas.

  When she opened her top drawer, Meredith gasped.

  Gone were the practical bras. No flannel pajamas. Even her panties had been removed. Mouth open in wonder, she fingered what now lay in her drawer.

  A small, neatly-folded pile of what Kirstin would call “dental floss panties”. She held one up, balancing it delicately on her fingertip as she stared at the silky fabric of it.

  How did you even put that thing on? Where was the front?

  But there was more. She pushed the panties aside, retrieving a black negligee.

  Black! She'd never bought black undergarments in her entire life!

  It was almost sheer, the straps silky and thin, the bust clearly meant only to cover the bare necessities, the bodice flaring out and incredibly short. Where the hell did he get this thing? It was certainly nothing she'd be able to pick up at the mall. She smiled shyly as she held it up. It looked like it should come with a pair of garters. And as she lifted it up on her fingertips, taking in the beauty and boldness of it, she giggled. There they were, tucked underneath—matching garters. Oh my.

  She lay the black negligee to the side, and stared in rapt wonder at what lay beneath it. A soft, delicate pink babydoll nightie, clearly made of the finest satin, smooth, and decadent to the touch. She moved her fingers over the buttery surface and sighed. It was so soft, so delicate, with thicker straps than the black one, but even shorter. What would it feel like to have that against her skin? But there were even more—an ivory one with a deep lace vee in the front, a red one with black piping, and a tiny, shimmery silver camisole with a matching pair of panties that would barely cover her curves. As she took it all in, she realized there it lay, beneath the others, the sky-blue one. But when she lifted it, she gasped.

  New, sexy panties and a pile of seductive nighties weren't the only new things in her drawer.

  She was scared to touch it, as if it would bite her.

  What was it?

  It was clearly something meant to be used for a spanking. Long, thin strips of black leather, too many to count, were bound together, and ended in a short, suede-covered handle. She reached out and gingerly touched the handle. It was sturdy, and she felt excitement stir in her belly. She glanced to the door. No Paolo yet. She swallowed, picked it up, and flicked it against her hand. It almost tickled, and hardly hurt at all. She lifted it higher, flicked it harder, and felt a sharp series of stings against her hand.

  She dropped it.

  Holy shit.

  This would feel different from his hand, no doubt.

  Shaking herself, as if waking from a dream, she realized she was still dressed in her clothes, and in danger of disobedience. Paolo had given her a clear instruction. He wanted her kneeling and dressed as he'd instructed when he arrived. She dropped the black thing in her drawer, decided on the soft satin pink, and closed her drawer. She peeled off her sweater and tossed it in the laundry basket, unzipped her jeans, pushed them down, and tossed them in as well. She stood in front of the mirror, self-conscious as she stood in nothing but a white pair of panties and cotton bra. With another glance at the door, she undid the clasp on her bra, slipped off her panties, and balled them both up, sailing them into the basket. She slid the pink fabric over her head. Her eyes widened when she looked in the mirror. The cut of it in front reached so low, it almost hit her navel. She could see the gentle swell of her breasts on either side. She twisted to the side. The hem barely touched the top of her thigh. But she had to admit… it did something for her. She felt instantly younger. Attractive. The feel of it was heavenly. But she had no time to stare. Running her fingers through her hair, she skipped to the bed and knelt on the runner.

  Moments passed. The house was quiet. Whatever Paolo was doing in the den, she couldn't hear him. She was alone with her thoughts.

  But as she waited, she felt a sense of peace descend upon her.

  There was something about kneeling in this submissive position, waiting for her husband, that brought quiet to her mind. She had no idea what the night ahead of them promised, but she trusted Paolo. Maybe he'd try out the scary-sexy black thing in her drawer. He'd told her it was time for more rules. Would he spank her? Would it hurt? Could she handle what he would do to her? But as she contemplated the possibilities, she realized there was a glorious freedom in not knowing what he would do; a dark, erotic excitement to the unknown. As she knelt, her breathing slowed, and she felt the quiet as if it were a palpable presence around her.

  Her knees on the floor were a reminder of her obedience to Paolo, the new items in her drawer a clear indication that he'd been thinking about her, planning this, and that she was precious to him. And the reality that he alone knew what was in store for her brought peace to her mind.

  Meredith heard movement in the hallway, and she knew he was coming. Focusing on making sure she was ready for him, she adjusted her kneeling position, her back upright, bottom resting on the heels of her feet, hands in her lap, as the door opened. She kept her eyes trained ahead of her, showing him without words that she was his to command. Closing her eyes, she heard and felt his movements as he approached the bed and sat on the edge.

  “Beautiful, bonita. Your choice is perfect and pleases me.”

  Warmth spread in her chest as she opened her eyes and smiled up at him.

  “I had many to choose from. Thank you.”

  He nodded. “How do you feel kneeling here, waiting for me, Meredith?”

  To her surprise, her eyes grew moist. “Wonderful,” she whispered.

  He reached a hand out and cupped her jaw. “Perfect,” he whispered back. “We will use this posture often.”

  She nodded, swallowing against a lump in her throat. It was as if he'd handed her a glass of water and she hadn't known until the first sip how very thirsty she was. She longed to drink from the cup he offered her. As her eyes remained locked in his, her heart pounded. Acutely aware of everything—the warmth and strength of his hand on her chin, the way her breath hitched and caught, what struck her most was the way his eyes spoke to her, and she knew in that moment the depth of his love for her.

  His eyes glittered. “Did you see what else I have in that drawer?”

  So tempted to look away, she made herself stare back. “I did. But I have no idea what the scary thing is!”

  He released her chin and chuckled a low, husky chuckle. “I've done my research,” he said. “It may look scary, but this particular one is good for beginners. Unlike some other items out there, this is very easy to control but difficult to overdo.” He paused, his voice lowering. “Go fetch it for me, baby.”

  Swallowing hard, she stood and went to her drawer, her hand trembling as she removed the black thing. “What's it called?” she asked.

  “It's a flogger.”

  She spun around, wide-eyed. “A what?” she squeaked.

  He chuckled again. “Flogger, baby. Now get your ass over here and hand it to me.”

  She scooted to him and handed him the flogger. The sight of him with it in his hands caused a twinge down low, starting in her belly and spreading between
her legs. His large, strong hand grasped the handle, and as he rested it on his lap, she became aware of how strong he looked, the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of his muscular arms, the salt and pepper beard across his jaw and his commanding eyes. Her heart raced in excitement.

  His smile fled, and his voice dropped.

  “Go lock the door, Meredith.”

  ***

  Watching her cross the room in the soft pink satin made him hard. He found it difficult to maintain his composure. He wanted to run his hands over every inch of her body, explore with his mouth and tongue, hold her beneath him and ride the power her submission granted him. Shit. What would it feel like to lay her across his knee and stripe her with the soft, sensual folds of leather? To hear her moan and squirm as he built the crescendo of pleasurable pain?

  When she was out, he'd researched. He didn't want to come on too strong and scare her. His aim was to balance pleasure and pain, not scare her, and certainly not hurt her, but the danger was there. It was a decided risk he took, agreeing to be her dom; a decision he'd considered carefully before he agreed. The dangers were great. As she submitted to him, he ran the risk of hurting her, and not just physically. She was fragile, still reeling from the pain of the past six months of heartache, still tender from the breach of trust. But if this was going to work, she needed to trust him, and he needed to build that trust.

  The bedroom was as good a place as any to begin the process of rebuilding.

  He didn't know what she could take. He didn't know how far he could push her. There were no hard and fast rules to this lifestyle. There were no guidebooks. But he'd stumbled across a website written by a dom with two decades of experience, who laid it all out in simple, straightforward terms Paolo appreciated. He'd read with interest.

  Find her tolerance. Her threshold is her touchstone.

  Her touchstone. He had to find her touchstone. How far could he take her?

  Once you find her tolerance, you'll have a better grasp of how to handle her. When you want to set the mood and use your power over her as foreplay, you'll want to spank her below tolerance, slowly and deliberately. Take your time. Be aware of her cues. Her physical response to the way you touch her will show you how far to take her. When she needs to feel your strength—when she needs to be centered—you'll want to administer a spanking that takes her to the very edge of her tolerance. This will help her. The hormonal release and the emotional impact of submitting will have a calming effect on her, especially when you administer a spanking that is deliberate and slow. However, when she's deserving of punishment you will want to take her above the edge of her tolerance. For punishment to be effective, she needs to dislike it, hate it even, and dread disappointing you. For many submissives, the knowledge she's disappointed you will have the desired effect. However, your job as her disciplinarian is to make sure the spanking she receives is just enough beyond her tolerance that she understands the severity of her infraction, but not so far beyond her tolerance that you cause unnecessary distress.

  Thought it was merely one dominant's opinion, Paolo liked the concept of finding her touchstone.

  He needed to find her tolerance. It was crucial.

  This weekend would serve that purpose.

  Locking the door was an unnecessary step—they were alone at home, after all—but exerting his control over her, and the sound of the lock sliding into place, was a sort of prelude. He drew in breath and sat straighter, prepared to command the scene, and as she came back to him, he silently pointed to the floor. She obeyed him. Taking her chin in hand, he tilted her face to his. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears.

  She was emotionally primed.

  He kept his voice low when he spoke to her.

  “Before I tell you about this weekend, we need to talk.”

  Fear flickered in her eyes, but she maintained eye contact and nodded. Why fear? He needed to probe. He needed to draw it out.

  “You know I will read your emails and messages when I deem it necessary?”

  A quick nod.

  “I read your conversation with Little Lady,” he said, watching her reaction carefully. Her lips thinned, and she moved her body ever so slightly back from him. She shifted on her knees. “I told you I would, Meredith,” he said in explanation.

  “I know,” she whispered. “I just. it's going to take some getting used to.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, still holding her chin. Her eyes flicked to the black leather on his lap, then moved quickly back to his. He picked up the flogger and moved it behind him, so he could have her undivided attention. No distractions.

  “I read what you said about feeling off,” he continued. This time, she looked away, but a swift jerk of her chin brought her eyes back to his. “Eyes,” he ordered. She nodded. He released her chin, placed his hands on her arms, and pulled her closer. She leaned her arms on his legs, as he drew her to him. He reached his hand out and ran his fingers through her soft curls, drawing a contented sigh from her. She liked that. He gently combed his fingers through her hair, over and over, finally resting his hand on the nape of her neck. She leaned more heavily against his arms. Gently, he put his hand on the back of her head, guiding her head to his lap. She lay her head in his lap, as he continued to stroke her hair.

  “You're beautiful, Meredith,” he murmured.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes closed.

  “I'm not angry with you, bonita. I want you to know that.” She nodded slightly, as he continued to comb his fingers through her soft, silvery blonde hair. “This will take time, baby, all of it. Learning to tell me how you feel, and making it a habit to talk to me is something that you will need to learn to do. But when you find yourself going to someone else—like Little Lady, or Kirstin—that's a good indication that you need to come to me. Do you understand?” he asked, his voice deepening. She nodded again.

  “So tell me, Meredith. What is going on in your mind? Right now. Start there, baby. What are you thinking?”

  She inhaled, as he gently ran his hand over her hair.

  “I'm thinking this feels so nice,” she said. “So relaxing. But…” she paused. “My mind is racing, Paolo. I'm wondering what it will feel like to hold nothing back from you. I'm uncomfortable with the thought of no privacy, but I like the idea of you knowing what's going on in my mind. I really do. Well, mostly,” she said, her voice dropping. He stifled a chuckle.

  “Mostly?” he asked sternly.

  “Sometimes you make me mad. And that will get me in trouble.”

  He chuckled. “I don't expect perfection, baby,” he said. “It's a natural human reaction to get angry. How you handle that anger will determine whether or not I take you across my knee.”

  She nodded. He watched her tongue flick out and she licked her lip. He stifled the desire to chuckle. She wanted him to spank her, so much so, that hearing the words take you across my knee was turning her on. He moved his hand from her head to the top of her shoulders, gently stroking downward.

  It wasn't time yet. No, not yet. There were things that needed to be addressed first.

  “Sit up, honey,” he instructed. She did, her eyebrows raising in expectation.

  “You said you felt off, Meredith. Now I need to know why.”

  Her brows drew together. “But I don't know why,” she said. “How am I supposed to tell you why if I don't know?”

  “You don't always need to know exactly what to say. Just do your best. Start talking. Tell me what's on your mind, and we'll take it from there.” He took both her hands in his. They felt so small, so soft, and he liked the feeling of engulfing her hands. Holding her small hands in his larger ones made him feel stronger, more powerful.

  “I… didn't like when you punished me,” she began, but then she seemed to want to change what she'd said. “No, I don't mean that. Well… not exactly. I do like that you want me to obey you. I want you to want me to obey you,” she continued, brows furrowed as she stumbled over her words. “But it's not
like I want to disobey you. It's not like that at all. I want you to be pleased with me. But after you… spanked me,” her eyes dropped down for a brief instant, then quickly came back to his. “I felt… better. I felt like I mattered to you. That you took the time to discipline me, because it was important to you that I obeyed you.”

  He nodded, encouraging her to continue. Even though she tripped over her words, she was doing exactly what he wanted her to. He knew her well enough to understand more than what she was verbalizing.

  “Good,” he said. “Very good. Go on, baby.”

  She visibly relaxed. “And now. Well, I don't want to get in trouble. It's not really that? I mean, I don't want to disobey you and earn a punishment. But…” she paused, as if she was ashamed of what came to her mind.

  “Say it,” he ordered.

  “I want to feel important like that again,” she said in a rushed whisper.

  He nodded, mulling over what she said. He'd read about this, and wondered how it would manifest with Meredith. One dom recommended a weekly time set apart for the dominant and submissive to re-connect, come together and talk, and he said it was often beneficial to remind her of her role, and reinstate his own.

  Interesting.

  It had been a week since he'd punished her.

  A week had been too long.

  He thought of what she'd said to Little Lady, and he realized he'd missed a big piece of the puzzle. Yes, he needed to know her touchstone, her physical tolerance level. He needed to bring her to the brink of tolerance. He needed to give her what she needed from him, so this would work. But the physical touchstone was only the beginning.

  He needed to learn her emotional touchstone as well.

  As he processed through his own thoughts, he realized she was still looking at him, but her eyes had shadowed.

  “That sounds selfish, doesn't it?” she whispered. “I feel like a selfish child. Like I demand to be the center of your universe or I won't…”

  His reaction was so intuitive it surprised even him. He leaned over, bent her across his leg, and delivered a sharp, stinging swat to her bottom. She gasped and stiffened, as he straightened her back up to kneeling. Her cheeks flushed and she lowered her eyes. She'd gotten the point.